How To Disappear Completely
by Milk and Glass
Summary: After Derek's sudden death in a motorcycle accident, Meredith sinks further into depression and devastation. Addison comes to Seattle for the funeral, but stays to cover a maternity leave. How death affects them both. Meredith/Addison femslash fic, angsty
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't like that

It wasn't like that.

Meredith leans against the pillar at the back of the church and she stares straight ahead; she can't bring herself to sit down on the pew, or to kneel, or to even go near the casket that's thankfully closed on the altar. She can't do anything, because it wasn't like that, not anymore.

The news came when she was lying upside down off the couch and drinking shots of tequila in a thoughtful fashion. He'd driven off on his motorcycle; he'd sped away angry, and then it was drinking time and the anger and annoyance of the situation had disappeared in a haze, and she'd laid, passed out on the couch, the tequila spilling into the carpet and sending out sharp fumes into the air, until Izzie found her and Izzie had tears on her cheeks and then life went into a tailspin when they rushed to the hospital and were two minutes late to hear him pronounced dead.

Just like that, it was completely over.

And it wasn't like that; no, it wasn't. She loved him and she had begged him not to storm out, but that was Derek – his communication skills were shit. And so she cries now, because he wouldn't listen and the last words she said to him were, "Fuck you, then." And he deserved so much better than that.

The priest clears his throat; he intones the mass in his sonorous voice while Meredith stands, outside of them all, at the back of the church. She can see Derek's family; she can see his friends at the hospital – Mark rubbing the shoulders of his mother with his other arm around Derek's oldest sister, and all the nieces and nephews, dumbfounded in the light of the stained glass; of the somber echoing church that Derek would have poked fun at, being an atheist.

Her heels dig into the soft part of her sole; you'd think after a year of standing on your feet for eighteen hours in a shift, she'd have gotten used to it, to the crushing, numbing pain in her feet, but she digs them in harder. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Izzie, who comes up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Meredith barely feels it – she's still staring up at the casket; at that shell of Derek, the one that she never told "I love you" to again.

"Mer," Izzie's voice is a whisper, a tickling annoyance against her ear, and Meredith squints and winces, twisting away, but still connected, still waiting to hear what the other woman has to say.

"Do you need to sit down? You're really white."

"I can't." It's just an impossibility. And then her eyes go black, and she feels Izzie supporting her. "Okay, okay."

The service goes on, but Izzie leads Meredith outside. And the silver air – the way that the trees gleam in the underside of the rain and the fog and everything – it's easier than trying to be a dignified mourner. She drops her head in her hands; she feels the gentle rain on her hair, and finally, with Izzie's hand still on her shoulder, she starts to cry.

/

Addison Montgomery sits with her hands clenched around the scarf she brought to tie over her hair, and then realized that she wasn't Grace Kelly and never would be, so she left it off. She's got her legs crossed and she's outwardly calm. The mourners cry and sniffle around her, but it's just not like that; she did her crying, shocked, into her pillow with the sea wind all around her. Coming back to Seattle was like feeling a dozen mosquitoes biting her at once, but they refused to ship his body back to New York. Derek had left instructions that he wanted to be cremated, his ashes buried on his land. It was so him, and yet Addison wishes she never had to know this fact about him.

It's so cold here, and that's part of the reason she can't cry. She can't cry in a cut-glass and stone church, where Derek wouldn't have wanted to be, anyway. And she can't cry because she doesn't have the love she had for him. She misses him like she'd miss any acquaintance, which makes her feel horrible and cold and stupid, because she was married to him for eleven years. That's the worst. Because it wasn't anything she'd miss. She misses Derek, the Derek who smiled cockily and loved to hike and fish and who gave the warmest hugs, so much so that the cold never got to you when he wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

The accident – a motorcycle crash on a slick road – it's cliché but it seems so Derek. She doesn't know the ins and outs of it, but she doesn't really want to know. She's here for the funeral, and then Richard's commissioned her for a few months in the neonatal unit to fill up a mat leave. She's only here as a favour. Unfortunately, she knows that shows.

She files out of the church, following Derek's weeping mother, following the pallbearers and the children with their bent heads, out into the rain and the wind and the fresh air. And she almost trips over Meredith Grey, who's sitting on the steps, the tears pouring down her reddened cheeks.

But like anything else, she's tired already of Seattle's drama. She shuts her mind to it and focuses on the man that will never smile at her again. The best friend that she feels nothing for, now, and she hopes to hell it's just shock that makes her heart twist for Meredith Grey but grow cold when it comes to Derek Shepherd.

/

"Mer, come on. You've got to talk to someone."

Izzie's standing at the door; she's got a tray of food in her hands, but Meredith turns onto her side, away from Izzie's prying brown eyes.

"No, thanks."

"Meredith! Come on, you haven't eaten in two days." Indeed, there are water bottles littering the bedside table and the floor. They roll against Izzie's feet; they make a plastic noise against the hardwood and they cast rainbows from the weak sunlight all over the room. And Meredith still won't move, not even when one plays across her pale face.

"You won't talk, you won't eat, you won't even wash your hair – have you even gotten up to pee?"

"Izzie, go away." The command is weak, and Izzie characteristically takes no notice.

"Get up. Become a human being."

Meredith sits up, weakly, lolling against the headboard, her cheekbones standing out more than usual from the lack of food over two days. "I left you alone when your boyfriend died."

"For a day. And then I got up."

"Izzie . . ." And suddenly, Meredith's face crumples; she brings two cold hands up to her eyes and Izzie's face softens, looking at the bloody cuts that glaze the wrists, seeing the knife on the bedside table.

"Oh, Mer." Izzie suddenly puts down the tray and climbs into bed beside the tiny resident, putting her arms around the shaking shoulders.

"It's too hard," Meredith whispers, her tears wetting the collar of Izzie's shirt where her face is buried.

"It won't be," Izzie replies. "It won't be forever."

No one knows what happened. No one knows but Meredith. So she's lost, lost in this hell that just won't stop. Lost knowing that the last words she said to the person she loved most in the world were "Fuck you."

She curls against Izzie, closing her eyes, feeling them weight down and her body curling into a ball. "Don't go," she manages to breathe, and she feels Izzie's affirmative.

She slides down into sleep – painless oblivion and she doesn't care that this avoidance is the worst thing she's ever done.

It's nothing, because she can't step up and be the loving, grieving girlfriend. Not when his death was because of her words.

Izzie's wrong. It is forever.

/

"Addie, we've got a trauma case coming in. Mother, eight months pregnant, punctured her amniotic sac in a car accident and will probably need an emergency C." Richard's voice, which never changes even when he's hurried and on his way to a surgery, washes over Addison and she smiles. This, this feels like home.

"Okay. I'll get on it."

Richard stops for a moment, studies Addison's face. "You okay, Addison?"

"Okay?" For a moment, Addison misses what he's talking about, and then she realizes that he means Derek. A smile of relief crosses her face and she has to shake it off, shake off the indifference that she's felt since his death.

"Yes, Richard, I'm okay. Are you?" Her voice goes up at the end, it's a friendly chat between colleagues, but both know the other is lying. However, Richard nods. "Yes."

"How's Meredith Grey?" comes out before Addison can stop it, and she cringes. It's not up to her to ask about the grieving girlfriend. However, Richard doesn't notice any faux pas.

"I called the house, but Stevens couldn't tell me anything. She's apparently not eating much. Not doing anything, really. Normal under the circumstances." Richard looks pained. "I don't know what to do."

"Have you gone over?"

"Yes, but she wouldn't see me. She won't see Bailey, either. It's been three weeks, Addie, and she's just not getting any better. She hates it when I act like a father figure, but she's wasting away. And she loved him, but her life isn't over. I just worry."

"Richard, she's a grown woman."

"I know. She's Ellis Grey's little girl to me, though."

Addison feels her voice get soft; she puts a hand on Richard's shoulder. "She never told you anything at the best of times, Richard. You cannot be her saviour. You can't make it all better by just kissing the wound."

Richard's eyes, so serious – so soft, fill with tears. "I wish I could."

"Yeah."

The silence between them is palpable. "Will you go over?" Richard suddenly asks, his face worried and drawn.

"Richard." Addison opens her mouth to protest, but he cuts her off.

"Please, Addison? Maybe she'll talk to you. Maybe she'll open up. She won't talk about it, and she loved him, so much. She won't do anything."

"Is she a suicide risk, Richard? Is this the problem?" says Addison, and then hates the sharpness in her voice, but she isn't surprised when he bows his head.

"Yeah, Addie, I think she is."

Addison looks down at her hands – the nails painted, soft from not scrubbing in every day, and sighs.

"I'll drop by tonight, just to see how she is."

"Thank you."

He embraces her and she leans up against his shoulder – she can feel his pain radiating from him like the throb of a deep wound.

"She's all I really have, and I don't even really have her."

"I know."

/

Addison pauses in front of the wooden and glass door; she's clutching a bottle of tequila in a paper bag; she's got her handbag in the other. The soft leather straps are twisted and hard in her hands, but she spares a moment to knock, to hear the echo of her knuckles on the wood.

Expecting Izzie to come to the door, she's doubly surprised when it's actually Alex.

"Addison?"

"Hey," she begins awkwardly, and then just stops. "I'm here to see Meredith."

"Ah." He pushes past her, out the door and she gets a whiff of old leather and oil, a manly smell that's strangely comforting and brings back a memory of Derek. He doesn't stop or even really look at her.

"Alex?"

"In the living room."

"Thanks."

"Addison."

"What?" She looks up, and he shakes his head.

"Don't stay long. She just . . . just leave her."

He leaves and Addison crosses the threshold. It's funny; she's never really been here. The house is hushed; the dust motes trace the air under the lights and a fly buzzes weakly against the fanlight above the door. The screen is slightly loose, but she closes it as quietly as she can.

Through the hall, the carpet muffles the sound of her light footsteps. Finding a living room off the main corridor, she peeks in to find old furniture and a large fireplace. And there, against the cushions of a dusty sofa, is Meredith Grey.

She's got a blanket tangled around her legs. Her arms are bare; she wears a faded grey hoodie and her hair is loosely tied back. It appears clean, but as Addison gets closer, she sees the oil sitting on top of the strands near the crown. Meredith's blue eyes are dull; her face is pale. And she doesn't move when Addison sits down next to her. She doesn't do anything at all.

"Meredith?"

Addison's voice falls on the still air and Meredith startles, her eyes coming up to meet Addison's.

"Addison."

"Hey, I just dropped by . . . thought you might like a drink or something."

Meredith doesn't move, but her eyes don't leave Addison's. "Well, I'm not exactly up to going out."

"Yeah . . ." Addison pulls out the tequila. "I brought some, it's okay."

Meredith stares at the bottle; her eyes fill with tears, and she grabs it, almost lightning-fast, from Addison's hand. The glass on the table is clouded with dirt and old alcohol, but she just swigs from the actual bottle, and the dullness in her eyes is replaced with a faint fire.

"So, you came up for the funeral? You stayed awhile." The voice is neutral, but Addison knows to tread carefully.

"Yes, and no. I came to fill in for a few months at Seattle Grace. A neonatal surgeon on mat leave."

"Right." Meredith swigs again, wiping her face with the back of her hand. As she does so, her mouth looks bruised; the hand she uses has bloodstains under the fingernails. Addison suddenly takes the bottle from her hand.

"You're not going to share?" she jokes, trying to keep her voice light, but Meredith's sleeve falls over her arm and then the cuts come into view. Addison sighs.

"Meredith . . ."

"Don't, okay? I don't want any therapy sessions; I don't want the point of view from the ex-wife. I just don't." The words are rapped out; they fall on the silent, oppressive house like bombs from the air.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"Why not?"

Addison knows this is beyond her; Meredith's fucked up and it's never going to end well. But she gives the girl the tequila; in her opinion, nothing beats alcohol therapy. Even if it will never end well. Even if it's dangerous.

Meredith drinks again; this time, she coughs a little on the strength of the spirits. "Everyone who ever mattered is dead, you know."

"I'm sure not everyone."

"Oh, no, everyone. My mother, my boyfriend, my fake mommy . . ."

Addison sits closer to Meredith, tugs the blanket from under her legs, wraps it around them both. Not knowing Meredith well, it's awkward for a second, until Meredith moves towards the warmth. The bones of her elbows and ribs stick into Addison's side for a moment as she moves, but she leans, barely, against Addison's side.

Without thinking, Addison's hand comes up, just to touch Meredith's cheek. That slight brush of the finger – that last sip of tequila – the grief and the denial and all of the above – is that what triggers the tears?

They both will never be able to pinpoint the exact reason. But Meredith's tears start, and every bit of water she's consumed; whatever she's taken it, it's all coming out and it's not going to stop.

Addison cradles Meredith against her chest; she feels the heaving of the thin chest and the heat of the tears against the top of her thighs as the younger woman lies against her lap, giving in, finally, to whatever is plaguing her. The red scars contrast darkly against the pale arm, and Addison holds her closer, this hurt soul, this person that no one can reach and no one has ever wanted to reach as much as this moment. Meredith shakes – Addison feels those quakes inside her soul.

It might be the lack of food; it might be the weakness of grief. But Meredith drifts away again, her head growing heavier on Addison's lap. And if it wasn't Meredith Grey, Addison might have left – getting up, leaving her covered on that old couch that no one sits on anymore.

As it is, she can't. So, she hefts Meredith into her arms, fully realizing the ludicrousness of the situation. Meredith's legs are long and they drape awkwardly and painfully over Addison's left arm. But Meredith's head fits onto her shoulder. Her arms stay pinned against her chest. And she breathes, a little more deeply, as Addison heads towards the stairs.

The wheatgrass infusions are responsible for the extra strength. As light as Meredith is, she's still dead weight on an incline and going up the long staircase is like climbing the fucking Alpine path. But Addison makes it; she struggles, step by step, and Meredith's legs bruise against the railing and Addison slips a little on the threadbare runner but whatever, the landing is in sight. And she creeps along the hallway, peering into rooms that could be Meredith's, but never are.

The first room is too girly. It has pink and purple and star rugs on the ground and flowy drapes at the windows. It belongs to Izzie Stevens, a princess in her own mind and a child at heart. Addison passes it by.

The next room smells strongly of man, and she hurries past that one without looking in.

The third is a bathroom. It's not until the end, on the left side of the hall, that she finds the king-size bed; the old lace curtains, the clothing on the floor and the ensuite bathroom with the claw-footed tub. And her arms almost give out as she places Meredith on the unmade bed, but she stays a moment longer, just to tuck the tiny form in.

The snores reach the doorway as Meredith flips onto her back, her head small against the vast white pillow. And Addison watches her, watches her hands clasp like a child's under her cheeks – watches her legs curl up against her chest.

When Izzie comes home, tired and wan, she looks surprised to see Addison there, but she asks no questions.

"I came over – Richard asked me to."

Izzie's face bears the brunt of worry; she runs a hand through her thick blonde hair and peers around the corner of the doorjamb at the sleeping Meredith before sighing and turning back to Addison.

"Thanks."

As Addison makes her way through the cool night to her car, listening to the tree frogs and the wind over the grass, she feels the brunt of worry, herself.

There's so much more than grief in Meredith Grey.


	2. Chapter 2

"Just stop, Derek

"_Just stop, Derek. Stop trying to analyze it, to try to get me angry enough to react to it. I'm tired of your challenges. I don't know why you can't just accept me the way I am."_

"_That's right, Meredith, shut down on me. Shut down like you always do. When are you going to learn to face what's going on with you? It's so easy to sweep it under the rug, to hide it behind passive-aggressiveness, isn't it?"_

"_You know what? You have no. Idea. No FUCKING clue. So, how dare you tell me about passive-aggressiveness when you won't even face the fact that your girlfriend is screwed up and trying the best she can? You stand there and you're so proud of yourself, you've gotten through all of your problems with flying colours. Some of us are damaged, Derek. Some of us can't just step away."_

"_And you don't even try, do you? Do you like being an angsty mess? Having people feel sorry for poor Meredith Grey? Do you like the fact that people regard you as delicate, as broken? I think you must, because you never do a damn thing to change it. You don't even know where to start."_

_His voice dropped. He turned from her. "I can't stay around when you aren't even willing to help yourself. I can't keep being the one to save you."_

"_Derek!" Her voice, sharp and shrill, stopped him in his tracks, just as his hand touched the door latch. He turned._

"_What?"_

_She opened her mouth; it was on the tip of her tongue. And then, she shut down. "Fine, just walk away. It's what you do well, isn't it? You walked away from Addison; you walked away from me once. Why shouldn't I be surprised that you're walking away again?"_

"_Then TALK TO ME!" His voice boomed out, rolled off the ceiling and the old-fashioned wainscoting, off the dusty chairs and tables and the decorative Queen Anne fireplace. "Talk to me, Meredith. Tell me what I can do to help you."_

"_You don't really want to help. You want to take credit for making me happy again. You know what, Derek?"_

"_What?" His mouth open, slavering. His eyes snapping, red-rimmed from lack of sleep. She'd never found him less attractive. _

"_Fuck you, then. Walk away. I'm so done."_

_And it was an impasse; he had the choice. See through the frustration and the hurt; take her in his arms, kiss her tears and stroke her hair. But, he was angry, too. So he banged out the door, his motorcycle angrily tearing the air with its obnoxious growl, and left._

_She sat on the couch and cried, not knowing that it was far from the last time she'd cry over him._

/

It doesn't matter. None of it really matters. She can hash out the scene, hour after hour, under the influence of tequila or under the influence of tears. And it never gets better. She never got to apologize. She remembers him as angry, as assholish, as the person who challenged her without giving her any love to smooth it over in the end.

And she resents it. He was more than that and less than that and she resents the fact that she has to remember the main players of her life as uncaring and horrible.

It doesn't matter, anyway.

/

Addison lounges against the wall, staring down into a cup of cold coffee, trying to figure out if she could just inject the caffeine or if she actually has to consume the rest of the cup in order to feel any change in the blurriness that's early morning at Seattle Grace.

"Addie?"

She looks up. Richard Webber stands in front of her, bouncing slightly on his toes. She might be tired, but she always has a smile for Richard, who has to be a father to everyone on the surgical wing and take care of his own paperwork, too.

"Meredith Grey is returning to work today." His voice is low, sonorous as always, but it holds a slight amount of anxiety, and Addison finds herself putting her hand on his arm.

"Is that . . . wise?" She hasn't been back to see Meredith since she carried her up to bed. It had been two weeks since then. She's heard very little about the resident since then; Izzie Stevens mentioned in passing that Meredith was at least eating and sleeping semi-normally now. But she wasn't talking. It seemed to be normal for her – talking is a foreign concept.

Richard sighs. "No, I don't think it's wise. Is it wise for her to stay home all day with no one watching her? No. I don't know what to do. She's so devastated." He sighs, picks at his fingernails, and then looks up at Addison. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, don't worry about me, Richard." As she says it, she knows it's true. She isn't one to bawl over a lost love or a death. Life moves on – she moves with it. Ignoring Richard's curious glance, she asks, "Why are you telling me about Meredith Grey?"

"Bailey wants her to work with you this week. I'm just warning you that she might not be . . . herself."

"Meredith's self has never been bubbly or openly communicative. I'll be fine, Richard." She briefly considers telling him that she went over to Meredith's house, and then lets the idea go. She doesn't want the Spanish Inquisition when she needs to scrub in for a hysterectomy in five minutes.

"I know you will. I'm just . . ."

"Worried. Which is fine. I understand that you're worried."

Richard's shoulders slump. "I wish she'd talk more to me," he mutters, half to himself, and walks down the hall. Addison watches him go, and sighs.

"You sure left a mess behind, Derek," she murmurs, and turns into the scrub room, throwing the half-drunk cup of cold coffee into the garbage on her way in.

/

Meredith stares at the wall as Bailey gives assignments. "Karev, you and your interns can take on some of Sloan's cases. Don't give him any bullshit today or he'll have you down in the pit stitching up little boy scrapes. Stevens, clinic. Yang, go work with Hahn. Don't piss her off – she's already giving me crap for your smart-ass remarks. Grey . . ."

Bailey trails off. "Grey, you can work with Montgomery today. Now, get out of my sight, all of you. Grey, stay here a moment."

As the rest of the residents file out, Bailey looks up into Meredith's white face and sighs. "If you're not ready to be back here, everyone understands. You can take a few more days to get your head together."

Meredith looks down at Bailey, unseeingly for a moment, and then her eyes come back into focus. "What else would I be doing if I wasn't here?" she asks, rhetorically. "I'd be sitting at home, staring at an empty bottle of tequila, knowing that the only other place I really want to be is in bed, and making everyone concerned. Would you rather I was here so that you can keep an eye on me, or would you rather I was home, doing things I shouldn't be?"

Bailey blinks at the sudden speech from Meredith. "Fair enough, Grey. But the minute you feel like you can't handle it, head home. I'm not going to deal with a lawsuit because your scalpel slipped." The words are harsh, but they have the intended effect of snapping Meredith out of her grief-induced snit, at least for the moment. She bows her head in apology.

"Sorry, Dr. Bailey. It's just –"

"You're grieving, Grey. That's fine. I understand the sentiment, I've been there myself. But you have to be professional." She puts a hand out, touches Meredith's arm. Despite the fact that Bailey is a surgeon, her touch is soft, with none of the dry harshness that hands get when they're washed more than five times a day with rough surgical soap.

Meredith feels tears behind her eyes at the sympathy from this person who doesn't seem to have the capacity to be nice sometimes. But she blinks, and they're gone. She knows she has to prove to people that she can actually do her job. Sitting at home one more day will destroy the finely-balanced structure she's built to hold herself up from the grief.

When she gets to Addison, the older woman is wrist-deep in a woman's uterus and has no other words except, "Keep that towel out of my range of vision, Smithson. I can't see if you're mopping up blood every five seconds."

As the nurse murmurs an apology, Addison looks up and spots Meredith, standing awkwardly just outside the pool of surgical light. "Well, if you're coming in, Grey, get in. I don't have all day to wait for you. This woman needs retraction, so grab some retractors and get going."

Addison is totally aware that she's being a bitch. But she's tired and stifling her own grief in order to be strong for this waif that's been pushed on her by Richard. And she doesn't know how else to react. She feels awkward, after the last time. She'd held Meredith, intimately against her chest, felt the smaller woman's breathing and the way the thin arms had wrapped around her neck. And every time she looks at Meredith now, she remembers that time, and it makes her uncomfortable.

Meredith, of course, has no idea all of this happened. Drunkenness is sometimes a blessing.

Meredith grabs the retractors, puts all her concentration into making sure she has the correct amount of tension on the handles. Addison continues with the hysterectomy. All is quiet – all is concentration. That is, until Meredith's hand, slippery with blood, slips off the retractor and bangs into the body cavity, causing Addison's scalpel to slip.

"Motherfucker!" The expletive, rare from Addison's lips, explosively ricochets around the OR, and a million surgical towels flurry into the cavity as the medical team attempts to stop the bleeding. Addison is shouting orders; the blood is pooling onto the floor. Meredith suddenly can't take any of it, and without a by-your-leave, the retractors clatter to the floor and she runs out of the OR.

The blood is still on her shoes. She doesn't bother to scrub out or try to take them off. The gloves splatter to the floor. Her scrubs are bloody and she doesn't care. She falls facedown onto the bed in the on-call room; the sheets turn stained and red, and the pillow grows wet as the tears she's been keeping back all day seep out into the rough starch of the pillowcase.

She fully expects to be screamed at by Addison. She fully expects to be told that she's being put on a leave of absence, unpaid, not enough money to even afford a small mickey of tequila. And she doesn't care. Because it's more than just the fact he's dead. He's not there to stand up for her; he's not there to put a hand on her back, to kiss the gentle curls in her hair, to tell her she's beautiful or that she's so brave and mistakes happen anyway.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the door open and a hint of red hair swish by as Addison stomps into the room. Yes, she's angry. She's really pissed off. And Meredith cringes; expecting the words to blow about the room, with nowhere to go but in her ears. Her incompetence, laid out on the table for all to see. Stupid Meredith, too fucked up to do her job properly.

But surprisingly, none of that happens.

Addison sits down on the bed beside Meredith. The bed gives a little under her weight. She tries to ignore the blood on the sheets, the paleness of Meredith's face.

"What are you trying to prove, Grey?" Addison's voice is gentle. She's tired, and the exhaustion shows in her face, in the blue eyes that are the type of endless blue that Meredith's just aren't. And Meredith has a million answers, all of which are none of Addison's business. So, like everything else – like she has no other reactions – she just begins to cry.

And Addison pauses a moment, before wrapping her arms around the shaking girl, ignoring the fact that there's now blood on her scrubs and white coat.

"You don't have to prove to everyone that you're all right," she whispers into Meredith's hair. "You don't have to come back yet."

"What else can I do?" Meredith chokes, and Addison puts her cheek against her hair.

"I can't sit at home. I can't stare at the door and watch him leave, over and over, like a freaking looped tape, I can't do it. I have to do something else. I can't let it destroy me like everything else."

Her chest heaves; her tears drop onto the scratchy hospital blanket. And Addison doesn't know what else to do, but to hold back the storm that's threatening to destroy this woman. It's the eternal grief of a woman who lost the love of her life. It doesn't get any easier, no matter how far forward in time it happens.

Meredith's sobs slow down, eventually. She lies on the bed, face up, staring up at Addison's earrings that glitter in the shaded light, blur in her line of vision. And then she picks up Addison's hand, without thinking; she rubs the place where her rings had been when she met her a year ago, in the front atrium of the hospital.

"Do you miss him?" Meredith's voice is so low and hoarse, Addison can barely hear her.

"Yeah. I do." Addison's voice is matter-of-fact, but Meredith leans into her, anyway. And Addison bows her head, meets the lips that are slightly parted, swollen and salty from tears.

This is a bad idea. It's a horrible idea. But there's something in the comfort – from knowing that the only person who understands is the other person that loved him.

So she lets it happen – correction: they let it happen.

It's one moment in time. It's barely a nanosecond.

And yet, it changes everything.


	3. Chapter 3

When it ends, it feels like someone's blocked out the sun, ripped away a warm blanket. And instead of going back for more – instead of giving into the confusing feelings, Meredith throws her hands over her face and begins to cry again, hard.

Addison moves away, her face concerned. It's tough to know what to do in this situation. Meredith is still so incredibly fragile – so hurt. She puts a hand out, but then draws it back. Meredith's choked crying fills the room, the only sound.

Addison hears an undercurrent of muttering through the sobs – a repetition of two words through Meredith's tears and fingers. "My fault."

Rage blooms in Addison's chest, rage and tears and disbelief, and she grabs Meredith's hands, pulling them away from her face. "This is not your fault. Not your fault. Okay?"

Her voice is rough and low, and Meredith responds better than if Addison's voice had been gentle. She sits up, wiping tears and snot and a little drool away from the corners of her mouth and the crevices of her eyes, and sniffles, once. "What?"

"Grey. Meredith. What happened to Derek is NOT your fault! Don't say that. Don't put that on yourself. It's not yours to own."

"If I hadn't . . . and if you hadn't kissed me – "

Addison laughs harshly. "Listen here, missy. I'm not the only one who was kissing today."

Meredith actually giggles in the middle of a sob. "Fair enough."

The air clears of tension, just a little bit. And all the rage that Addison felt towards Meredith and her botched surgery is gone.

Addison touches Meredith's hand, just gently. "It's not your fault. Okay? It could have happened even if the last thing you did was kiss him."

Meredith says nothing else, but when they leave the room, her hands have stopped shaking, and her head is higher. Addison, despite her vow to stay the hell out of things from now on, smiles as she heads in the other direction.

//~//

A week later, Addison finds herself on Meredith Grey's doorstep for the second time.

The Chief didn't ask her to come, this time, but she plans to use his name if she's asked. To be honest, she's not sure why she's here. She's made a point of avoiding Meredith Grey all week, trying to stay away from Meredith's constant stare. The blue eyes that never turn from Addison's. The lips that turn rosy-red when Meredith chews on them absentmindedly, which she does often. Addison had almost convinced herself that she wanted to step away from that mess of a girl, and then yesterday happened.

Yesterday, Addison found herself walking by the ocean, tracing a path around the boardwalk that lines the shores of Elliott Bay. The ferry pad was bustling as usual, and Addison found herself thinking of Derek and his description of the disaster that happened almost a year ago. Of the thousand-strong crowd spewing blood and screams, the chaos that comes with a horrible disaster. And she remembered Meredith, lying on the gurney, blue and still, her skin ice-cold.

Addison stood there, the wind whipping her red hair, blue eyes screwed up against the watery sun that had just broken through the clouds and felt herself paralyzed to the sidewalk. For better or worse, she needed to see how Meredith was. What she was doing. It's been a bare month since Derek's death and Addison is not convinced that Meredith is okay.

She ruefully looks at her reflection in the sidelight beside the door, shaking her head at her stupidity. This is going to end badly. And it's unfair to both of them. The best thing to do would be to walk away.

Addison raises her fist to knock on the door.

Izzie Stevens answers. The girl is beautiful, in her own way. She's tall and curvy and has curly blonde hair that never seems to have a bad hair day. But the problem with Izzie is that she sees way too much. And when Addison spots the younger woman slowly taking in the situation, she prepares herself for a verbal onslaught of questions.

Sure enough, Izzie's brown eyes are curious and wide, and when she opens the screen door, her voice is light, but firm. "Hi, Dr. Montgomery. Can I help you?"

For a moment, there's nothing to say. Addison feels her face getting hot as she asks, "I just wondered if Meredith was here."

Izzie's eyes widen, but she doesn't comment. Instead she says, "Yeah, she's inside. Come on in."

The rooms are fresher, this time. There's a lot less dust. There's even sunlight flooding through the oriel window at the top of the stairs. Obviously, someone just cleaned, because the scent of lemon furniture polish and Windex has replaced the dusty, musty, slightly alcoholic smell from before. It's almost a completely different house.

When Addison finishes taking in the changes, she realizes that Izzie is staring at her again curiously. Addison blushes. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay. Mer?" Izzie's voice goes up at the end, slightly increasing in volume, and that's when Addison sees Meredith.

She's on the same couch as last time, but this time, there's no bottle of alcohol rolling at her feet. She's got a worn book open on her knee. Her hair has been recently combed and washed. And she's smiling when she gets up from the couch and comes over to greet Addison, although her eyes are confused.

"Hi, Dr. Montgomery," she says, her voice bright but a little confused. "Can I . . . help you?"

Addison wants to scowl. She hates this stupid formality outside the hospital. If you're familiar at work, you should be familiar outside of work. So she immediately puts an end to the "Dr. Montgomery" stuff by saying, "Please call me Addison," and surreptitiously ignoring the stairs, where she remembers how damned sore her legs and arms were after carrying Meredith up the stairs. Does Meredith even know?

Would she care if she did?

"Addison," Meredith repeats. "Can I get you something?"

Izzie pipes up, "I just made some tea."

The awkwardness is overwhelming, so Addison agrees just to sit down in the kitchen. As she follows the younger women's retreating backs, she wishes with all her heart that Izzie would find something else to do. That would make this a lot less awkward than it has to be.

Meredith takes a seat at the table, and Addison is once again amazed at how small she looks against the sturdy country-style furniture. As Izzie pours out the tea, Addison begins to pick at her nails, and catching Izzie's eyes on her, tries to stop without drawing attention to herself. Strange that she, so normally sure of herself and the furthest thing from awkward, feels like she's back in high school trying to break into the popular clique.

Addison actually laughs at this thought – these residents are more like the loser group that picked at their fingers and twirled their hair. Much like she's doing right now. Dammit!

Then she catches both women staring at her oddly.

She clears her throat. "So, I came because Richard – I mean, the Chief – asked me to come and see how things were going. He wanted to know if you'd be willing to take an extra shift next week, Meredith."

"So why didn't he just call?" asks Meredith, sipping at her tea and wincing as her tongue gets burnt. Addison blushes for the third time.

"Well, he knows that I don't live too far from here, so he asked me to drop by. I'm sure he'll call." Shit. Now she's told a lie and one that can be easily debunked with one question to the Chief. She'd better get to him before Meredith does.

Izzie's face is now openly sceptical. "Okay . . . so is that all?"

"Well, and I wanted to see how Meredith was doing," Addison replies, her voice sharp. Izzie, properly chastised back into resident mode, shuts up and rises from the table.

"Okay, well, have fun," she finishes lamely, and leaves. Meredith's eyes track her exit, then come back to rest on Addison.

"Okay. Why are you really here?"

And somehow, Addison has no trouble being honest. "I was walking yesterday by Elliott Bay. I just . . . wanted to see how you were."

Meredith's face doesn't change. "Did the Chief actually send you?"

"Not in so many words. But he did want me to come. Meredith, he cares about you."

"Yeah. He cares because he feels guilty, for some stupid reason. You know, that man has enough guilt to sink a battleship. I have no idea how he gets through the day."

"Yeah, well. I don't know if I really want to know."

Meredith rises. "We could go for a walk if you want."

Addison suddenly smiles. "Yeah, okay. I do want."

The garden outside smacks of Izzie's special touch. Addison looks over the beds of spring annuals and the last of the perennials and rolls her eyes a bit. "Wow."

Meredith laughs, a silvery sound. "Yeah, she goes a bit overboard. But I can't say I mind. I wouldn't do anything with it. If it makes her happy, I guess."

"What does make you happy?"

Meredith blinks at the question. "I used to say it was Derek. Used to."

"And?"

"And, in the last few months, it wasn't. Wasn't him totally, I guess. Surgery," she finishes. "Surgery makes me happy."

"Were you guys having issues?" Addison's voice is careful. She knows she's going into tough territory here, and she wants to prevent a Meredith shutdown. Meredith, however, seems to be in an expansive mood, and she replies easily enough.

"Yes. To be honest, they started after I almost drowned in Elliott Bay. He couldn't trust me. I couldn't stand him hovering. I don't know. He got apathetic after awhile."

"Yeah, that's classic Derek."

Meredith raises her head, her blue eyes full of the spring light, and focuses on Addison. "What I wish is that he had just listened, just once. He was famous for storming away mad and he needed to grow up a little and act like an adult. I avoid, sure, but I wouldn't get on a motorcycle and take a fast ride on a slick road, you know?"

It's easily the longest speech from Meredith that Addison's ever heard, and she blinks in surprise. "I guess so. I mean, I would think he'd be smarter than that, too, but I guess people react to things in different ways. As I say, Meredith, it was an accident. No one could have predicted that outcome."

"No one, yeah, but I'm not surprised it happened to me." Meredith closes her lips firmly after that, and Addison refuses to push. Fine with her.

"Look, Addison, I appreciate you coming over. Both times."

Addison smiles a little self-consciously. "Oh, you remember that first time?"

"Sure. Who doesn't remember getting sloppily drunk in front of their boss? It seems to be a trend for me." Again, that silvery laughter. Addison grins back.

"I guess so. Do you remember all of that night?"

"Well, I suppose I must have passed out at one point. I found myself in my bed. What'd you do, get Alex to carry me up?"

Addison debates telling her the truth, then grins. Nah, it's better to save that for another day.

"I guess so. I don't really remember."

Meredith laughs. "You were drunk, too?"

"Hey, someone had to keep you company." They stand, smiling at each other, and Addison puts a hand on Meredith's shoulder.

"Thank you. I needed this. To make sure you were fine, and to give myself a bit of a break."

Meredith smiles softly. "Thank you for coming."

As they walk to the door, Meredith takes Addison's hand, and only lets it go when they come to the screen. "Addison, please come again."

"Next time, I won't come because the Chief wants me to."

Meredith leans forward to open the screen for Addison, but her mouth stays close to the red-haired woman's ear.

"Just make sure there's a next time."


	4. Chapter 4

The problem with getting involved is now it's too late to turn back. Too late to shut off your thoughts; too late to blink hard to block out the picture that keeps rising in your mind. Addison has broken her vow, and part of her doesn't care in the least.

The other part has to watch the object of her newfound affection across a surgery table, eyes fixed on the job at hand, face obscured by a surgical mask. If Addison could see behind the mask, she would see twisted lips; maybe a point of a pink tongue sticking out in concentration.

Addison wishes she could see behind the mask. Right now, that's dangerous.

They're working on an extremely important surgery – so important, in fact, that there are six doctors performing different jobs. Both the mother's life and the baby's life hang in the balance . . . and Addison is having trouble concentrating because Meredith's hand keeps entering her field of vision.

A little more harshly than she intended, she snaps. "Grey, take your hand out of there! I can't see a damn thing."

"Sorry, Dr. Montgomery," Meredith replies, and removes her hand. Quiet falls over the OR – the only sounds are machines whirring and the ventilator pumping as Addison finally stops the bleeding in one spot and manages to cut through another layer of skin. Maybe this C-section will be okay . . . despite the fact that the baby is barely twenty-two weeks old and she doesn't foresee the kid living more than a few hours.

She hasn't told the mother that, because she doesn't want to let her mind go there until she's sure that there's no hope.

No matter what it takes, Addison is a believer in miracles. She does what it takes.

Just as she begins to see the baby's white, blood-smeared skin gleam under the pool of surgical light, one of the interns slips with the suction, punching a hole through the mother's peritoneum and into the depths of her body.

Addison swears. "FUCK! Grey, Karev, Reilly – get that bleeding stopped. I have to get this kid out before her pressure drops." As she finishes her sentence, the woman's pressure drops and the baby's heartbeat begins to slow.

The next fifteen minutes are a blur of blood, breath, bodily fluids and dizziness as first the mother's bleeding can't be stopped, then the little blue baby won't breathe. The tiny doll-like form on the OR's side table begins to shake, then still, and Karev shouts, "It's a seizure – the kid is having a seizure, Dr. Montgomery!"

I can't give up on this mother, she thinks, struggling in the sea of blood, her gloves slipping back and forth as she tries to stop the force of the bleeding. Two bags of blood flow into the woman's veins, but Addison knows most of it is probably flowing back out onto the floor. Just as she thinks it, the woman's heart stops beating, and she swears again, tears coming to her eyes in frustration, just as Karev shouts at her, "What do you want to do about the baby, Dr. Montgomery?!"

"Is it breathing?" Addison shouts back over the beeping of the monitors and the squelching of towels in the body cavity.

"No."

"How long has it been?" She looks up, suppresses the urge to brush imaginary hair out of her face. Meredith takes a towel and gently wipes the sweat running into Addison's eyes. It's what would be done for any surgeon working hard, but the gentle touch seems to reset Addison's brain, and she becomes calmer.

Alex checks the OR clock. "Ten minutes."

"Call it. And I'm calling it for this woman." The blood drips onto the floor – a slow, glutinous sound, and Addison suddenly feels an urge to gag. She pushes it down, stares at the clock. "Time of death, 10:20."

A second later, Alex calls the same time. Both bodies lay on the table while everyone files out. Addison watches them go, every last one of them.

Only then, when she's alone with the dead, she begins to cry.

//~//

She holds onto the bed posts, willing the cold metal to cool her hands – cool her heart. The spring wind is warm today, and she can hear the window rattling a little behind the drawn blinds, but she can't make herself care enough to appreciate it.

It's been a long time since she's lost both – both the new life and the sustaining life. And it's days like today when she wonders what the hell she's still doing here in Seattle, when there's no one to turn to after a hard day, no one's shoulder to lean against – no one's sweet smell to breathe in and be comforted by. She's lost both men she'd turn to after this. One, she'll never get back.

Addison turns onto the bed, staring at the crack of light through the blinds, her eyes stubbornly dry, her contacts feeling scratchy against her corneas, and determinedly closes her eyes.

The door opens, then closes harshly behind the entrant, but Addison doesn't open her eyes to see who it is, and she certainly doesn't say anything. In fact, she hopes they'll just leave, whoever they are.

There's a sound of soft breathing in the room, and then a gentle voice. "Are you okay?"

Addison slits her eyes open, regards the person standing against the framed light of the window, blurred because her eyes are too tired to focus properly, and sighs. "I'm sort of – I just want to be alone, okay?"

"Well, all the other on-call rooms are full. I can't really go to another one." Meredith's matter-of-fact, soft-spoken voice jerks Addison out of her sulkiness and she opens her eyes all the way.

"Oh. I see."

Meredith's blue eyes are sympathetic, but she doesn't say anything else. Instead, she climbs to the top of the bunk bed beside Addison's, and rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling.

Addison says nothing, either, and after awhile, she thinks by the soft breathing in the room that Meredith has fallen asleep. She closes her own eyes, but opens them again at Meredith's voice.

"I'm so sorry."

"Sorry for what, Grey?" Addison's voice is rough, rougher than she wants it to be, and she clears her throat a little.

"Sorry for today. For what just happened."

"Oh. Thank you." There's silence again, but then Meredith clears her throat.

"It makes me scared to be a surgeon, you know, not just helping someone."

"It's not like that every day, Meredith."

"I know, I see enough surgeries, but I just worry. I sort of turn everything I touch to shit, you know?" A sharp laugh, unlike the silvery sound that's Meredith's normal laugh. "I don't know if I can handle death half as well as you do. In fact, I already know I don't."

Addison is silent for a moment, thinking. "It's not about handling it, really. You grow a bit of steel, I guess. You start getting stronger because you've got this responsibility. It's devastating, sure, but you develop the strength to move past it."

Meredith's voice trembles a little. "I'm not past it."

Addison is confused. "Past today?"

"No. I'm not past it. Past the accident. I think about it every single day."

Addison sits upright in bed. "This is different than losing someone in a surgery."

"It's the same feelings. Like it's my fault, you know?"

Addison bows her head, suddenly. "He wouldn't blame you. He wouldn't blame you for anything, Meredith. He adored you."

"I know . . . I think it's what keeps me going. He knows innately that it's not my fault, somewhere, I guess." The conversation is unlike Meredith, and Addison can almost see the blush on the younger woman's cheeks in the half-light. She clears her throat.

"Derek was always going to make his own choices. That was him, he just always took responsibility for himself."

Meredith says nothing, but somehow, Addison is encouraged to go on. "It's not even like he ever put the blame on me for our marriage failing. He didn't. He admitted his part in all of it. But I knew that in the end, it was my fault for not doing whatever I could to make him love me more.

"He was my best friend in so many ways, though, even if he couldn't love me that way. He used to have special Belgian beer for days like this, you know? And he'd save one for me even though he knew I hated beer. I hated it, but I'd drink it and he'd always put his arm around me, and just empathize."

Addison's voice starts to crack. "I miss him. I miss him, too."

Meredith, by now, has come down from the top bunk, her eyes locked on Addison's, willing her to say more. She sits on the floor beside the low edge of Addison's bed, her eyes never leaving the redhead's. Addison goes on.

"We used to have these horrible fights; we'd say the worst things to each other. But afterwards, he'd always apologize first. Always. He was always there for all of my moods, and he absorbed them. It used to drive me nuts that he'd never react! But he just didn't, until he exploded, that was how he was. That was just Derek."

Addison's tears are coming harder, now, wetting the pillow beside her face; the tears she's never been able to muster, never able to cry. "I miss the way he used to look at me like he understood. I miss how I could tell him anything, and he'd consider it without judgement. I can't believe I'll never see him smile at me again, never offer me one of those horrible Belgian beers . . ."

Her voice cuts into sobbing; her hands come up to cover her eyes. Her toes curl, her knees drawing up to her chest. It's rare that Addison cries like this, and certainly not in front of anyone. She saves this type of crying for drunken nights with men, mostly Mark, or for when she's alone at night during a rainstorm.

Meredith's hand snakes across the bed; resting gently on Addison's arm, then moves to her shoulder. Meredith's own blue eyes are misted with tears, but she doesn't feel the hurt that Addison feels; of losing her best friend, the person she could always count on to understand, even if he didn't love her as much as he should have.

Addison's tears get noisier as all the held-back grief threatens to rip her apart, and Meredith, against her better judgement, puts both arms around the shaking woman, resting her head against Addison's shoulder. She fully expects to be rejected, but instead, Addison, like a child, turns into Meredith, burying her face against the younger woman's rough scrubs, pressing into Meredith's slight shoulder.

The comfort works. Addison calms down, her arms going around Meredith, holding on for dear life. Meredith leans her head against the redhead's soft hair, murmuring unintelligible syllables of comfort, much as she would with Cristina or Izzie. The noise in the room stops. Addison closes her eyes, but doesn't let go of Meredith, and Meredith takes that moment to lie beside Addison on the bed, spooning her body into the taller woman's, taking from her warmth everything she hasn't been able to feel in the past two months.

Locked like that, Addison's salty eyelashes still screwed up against the half-light of reality, the two fall asleep, their breathing synchronized; their hands upon each other's hands.

//~//

Addison finds herself waking up first; her eyes sore and swollen from crying so hard; her chest hurting from the unaccustomed sobbing. It's not often she loses control like that, and she feels a bit stupid and babyish for losing it in front of her residents. But, she knows she's kidding herself – Meredith has ceased to be someone who works for her, and has suddenly become someone so much closer.

An equal, almost.

She goes to sneak out of the room, but stumbles a little over Meredith's shoes left in the centre of the room, and falls into the bed on the other side of the room. The slight banging of the bed against the wall is enough to wake Meredith, and the younger woman stirs, blinking her eyes like a child, staring uncomprehendingly around the room until her eyes light on Addison.

"Sneaking out?" Meredith's voice is rusty-sounding, deep with the effects of sleep. It's so unlike her normal uncertain soft-spoken manner that Addison freezes.

"I should get back to work."

Meredith watches Addison pick up her shoes and move them to the side, before her shaky sigh causes Addison to turn back.

"Grey." Her voice is reproving.

"Stay. Please. A little while. Just stay with me."

Addison reflects in slight amusement that now it's Meredith who needs someone, but it's not really a hardship to sink back down on the bed beside Meredith, curling up beside her, watching her eyes flutter in the half-light, between waking and asleep.

"I'm sorry," Addison begins, but Meredith puts a finger on Addison's lips.

"No. You can say it later. I don't want to hear it now." And with that, she kisses Addison.

Her lips are soft, salty-tasting, maybe from the tears she shed herself during Addison's crying jag. Her tongue inquisitively touches Addison's teeth, then the inside of her lips, and Addison's hand involuntarily goes behind Meredith's hair, tangling a bit in the soft strands.

Meredith's kiss turns from soft to desperate. She pushes against Addison, her entire body against Addison's front, as if she's trying to get inside her, or cuddle with her so closely that they become one person. Her hands touch Addison's face, then her shoulders – finally her stomach, slipping under the older woman's dark-blue scrubs.

Addison, though she is fully aware of what's going on and has her wits about her, can't help moving her own hands under Meredith's shirt, unclipping the younger woman's bra, feeling the elastic sting her fingers instead of Meredith's sensitive skin. Her hands trace over the satiny-smoothness of the younger woman's skin, feeling the goosebumps rise at her touch; feeling Meredith bite down on Addison's neck.

Meredith's hands are now slipping under Addison's scrub pants, her fingers feathering along the older woman's lace-lined panties. However, just as she starts to push at Addison's clothes, she hesitates slightly, not sure if she should.

Addison knows there's a decision here – one that will change both their lives. Either she lets it go, or she stops it here.

Professional relationships, friendship – even this strange half-love she feels for this girl who shares a dead lover and friend with her – it all flashes through her head as her hands find Meredith's fingers and they freeze there, together.

Then, all rational thought leaves Addison's head. She pushes Meredith's hands down.

Now, there's no going back.


End file.
